


The Confession

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Love Confessions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson tells Daisy he loves her.</p>
<p>(Post-"Spacetime" fluff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Confession

It’s untrue but he feels like he has spent a good chunk of his life by Daisy’s bedside waiting for her to wake up, recover from an injury. It’s technically only the third time but there’s something familiar about it - and the progression is familiar, too. Daisy has gone from being shot in the stomach only because the bad guy wanted to push Coulson into action to doing something heroic and getting beaten up by the very head of Hydra. He doubts Daisy will see that as progress, since she couldn’t help Charles anyway.

She eventually wakes up without making a noise and she looks at him and Coulson understands, he pours a glass of water for her. He lifts the glass to her mouth. Awake her wounds look somehow worse. The lip looks particularly bad.

“Did you-?”

“Talk to Charles’ wife? I did. Don’t worry,” he tells her.

Daisy blinks slowly. When they found her in the roof Coulson could still see the tracks of her tears on her ash-tainted face. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget that image as long as he lives.

She presses her cheek to the pillow, away from Coulson, like she’s struggling to stop more tears, gather herself before she can face him. 

He gives her a moment to recover. She must feel too powerless now, after how hard she had fought to save that man, because she believed she was destined to.

“Everybody else?” she asks, the first time she pauses to think how many people has been willing to risk their lives to save one man, willing to follow her into this.

“We’re all back,” Coulson tells her. “Lincoln is fine. Three stitches and a handful of painkillers, he’ll be like new in the morning.”

She’s still thinking about Charles.

And she probably wishes it was someone other than Coulson here sitting by her side right now.

“I let everybody go to their bunks,” Coulson says, apologetic. “They needed the rest.”

“It’s okay,” she says, sitting up. He helps by turning the pillow. She groans - the broken ribs. Malick gave her quite the beating. When Coulson found her he knew she was going to be fine, but the state of her was still shocking, it’s been a long time since she had gotten hurt so badly - since her mother tried to kill her, but he hadn’t himself been in an state to pay much attention then, he only remembers the reminders she wore on her face for weeks afterwards.

He knows they brought her up to speed the few moments she was conscious in the Quinjet. She knows about Andrew but that’s not something he wants to talk about right now.

“My face hurts,” she says, struggling to lift her hand to her wounds. It makes Coulson want to smile - the resilience of her, that she can make a joke. “We need to take Malick out.”

“We will.”

“He killed Charles just because…” she chokes a bit, still raw from the experience. She had been so convinced everything would turn out okay. So convinced that the universe made sense.

“Charles died to save you,” Coulson reminds her. “Getting to change to future - that’s what he had been searching for.”

“He did. He changed the future. But _I didn’t_.”

She sounds broken.

“Daisy.”

She sets her jaw, gritting her teeth.

“I should have been able to save him,” she says.

“You did everything you could. Sometimes that’s not enough.”

Daisy frowns at that. “And I’m supposed to just accept that?” she asks.

He shakes his head and gives her a sad smile.

“No. You will never accept that. That’s what makes you you.”

She bites her lower lip and nods, perhaps too raw to accept his praise right now, looking touched anyway.

Coulson puts his hand over her wrist.

“Thank you,” he says.

“What for?”

He could pick a million things he’s grateful for, but he’s thinking about just one now, about how she’s here and alive and he’s so grateful it hurts.

“For coming home,” he tells her.

She moves her free hand to his, even though it’s a struggle in her current state, pressing her fingers to his knuckles and smiling at him a bit.

He can’t stop thinking about her going up to that roof, convinced that she was going to save Charles, that she was going to save them all. And she still believes it. And Coulson does too, that’s the thing. He believes she can save everybody.

“Daisy, I love you,” he tells her, almost without thinking, because it’s there all the time, under the surface of everything he is, and it’s so easy to pick it up and just say it.

She tilts her head and grins.

“Hey, yeah, I love you too, it’s okay.”

Coulson returns the smile and almost feels bad for doing this to her.

“No.”

Then he watches realization wash over her face. (And feels her hand pull away from his)

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Coulson, I-”

“No, no, there’s no need to do that. I didn’t say it so you’d react. I know you don’t see our things like that.”

“I don’t-”

He lifts his hand, telling her there’s no need for that, the last thing he wanted was to be selfish and make her uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to pretend it didn’t happen either - after tonight, after what she tried to do, even if she failed, Coulson feels she needs to know. She is loved. Even if it’s hopelessly, she is.

“I know you’re with Lincoln and I don’t want to mess with that,” he tells her, to put her at ease. “He’s a good guy who could use your help and you deserve to be happy. I just wanted you to know. Just that. That you know it.”

Her eyes still a bit too wide Daisy thinks on his words for a moment.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay.”

He can see that she’s still terrified of having hurt him unknowingly.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest?” he says, pulling the blanket over her arms.

“I think I’ll do that…” she says. “Thanks. Thank you for staying with me.”

“It’s not the first time,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. Daisy makes a little amused noise at the back of her throat.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she replies. “I think I get the next one free? Frequent customer discount?”

It’s not a very funny joke but…

It’s going to be okay.

 

+

 

Daisy’s idea of a safehouse is to blend in into her old neighborhood in Manhattan, rest under a fake name (in a building without elevator, Coulson winces) and do a lot of groceries. She seems so settled in her routine in such a short time that Coulson is almost surprised she didn’t get a cat or something.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says and for once it’s not an excuse, he tried. 

“Hey, you were one man down,” Daisy handwaves his apology. “I got you were busy.”

“Not just one man down. Our best one.”

She throws him a smile over the shoulder at those words, as she leads him to the humble living room, or kitchen, or a combination of both.

She’s walking a lot better than when he saw her last, two weeks ago, still reeling because Grant Ward’s animated corpse shares the same affinity for crushing knees as the original. Coulson comforts himself thinking this is a genuine “you should see the other guy” except you can’t, because Daisy evaporated him.

“How’s the leg?” he asks.

“Getting there,” she says. She sounds impatient. Of course she does, it’s Daisy.

“Take all the rest you need. But hurry up, we need you.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

She finishes putting all the food in the fridge.

“Do you want some coffee?” she asks him.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Coulson says.

“It’s fine but I have to warn you: it’s instant.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, unsure. “I guess.”

She chuckles and starts boiling the water. Coulson looks around, leaning against the back of the couch. It’s not exactly homely and he gets the clear idea that Daisy is dying to heal completely so she can go back to the field. With the base compromised she couldn’t stay there. And being all the time in the plane was frustrating her too much and actually slowing down her recovery.

“You’re sure this place is safe?”

“Relax, Coulson, I know what I’m doing.”

He nods. She probably knows what she’s doing better than him. Things are not so dangerous for Inhumans these days and while there’s still work on that front that the team feels Daisy’s absence bitterly it’s not as urgent as it would have been, months before. And he thinks Daisy would be glad to know how much everybody misses her. Perhaps, Coulson thinks, he should tell her how much _he_ misses him, even if it’s just been two weeks.

“How’s Lincoln?” he asks instead.

He watches her back as she shrugs, washing the mugs and then putting a spoonful of coffee in each.

“I don’t know,” she admits, the tone unmistakeable. “He’s safe.”

Coulson freezes.

He hadn’t heard about this. 

“I’m sorry,” Coulson tells her.

He hears Daisy finish pouring the water on the mugs. She turns around. She has an expression of slight amusement.

“Nice of you to say that,” she tells him. “Considering it’s kind of your fault.”

He frowns furiously, confused but almost offended.

“My fault?”

“ _You_ messed things up for me and Lincoln.”

He realizes.

“Daisy I swear-”

“I know,” she says, giving him a tiny smile and gesturing a lot as she talks. “I know you didn’t mean to. But you have to understand, Coulson. For me you are like the ideal guy. You always have been. I just didn’t think you were a possibility. Until you said… well, that thing you said. You remember what you said, whatever. That messed everything up.”

He tries not to be happy about this. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“Then don’t say anything,” she says, reaching out her hand.

He doesn’t react immediately and Daisy tilts her head like _come on_. Coulson takes one step and lifts his hand until it meets hers. His fingers dart over Daisy’s palm, getting used to the touch, the softness. She closes and opens and closes her fingers over his knuckles, holding him with lightness. Coulson looks down at their hands entwined and suddenly notices the smell of coffee - it’s going to get cold - and he notices the sunlight falling on the furniture.

Daisy tugs at his arm.

“It’s okay,” she says, softly, like she is afraid to disturb some wild animal. Coulson feels a bit like that, twittery, approaching very slowly.

His other hand goes to Daisy’s hip, resting right above the waistline of her jeans. She is breathing hard even though she looks so calm. She’s good at that.

And she is giving Coulson an inquiring look, because he still won’t move further.

He didn’t think this moment would ever come so he doesn’t know what to do with it. He had told her he loved her without any hope of reaction. It’s two months later. He thought it was because there would never be a reaction, postponed or not.

“Kiss me,” Daisy pleads, like she can’t be the one to do it. “Please?”

He can’t reject that request. He touches his lips against her, very slowly at first. A startling sensation, not just how soft and ordinary it feels, but the fact that he has never kissed someone he was already in love with. 

Her body frightens him for a moment. She’s so young and he’s so _really not_ and it gives him pause until Daisy lifts her left hand and runs her fingers through his hair, pulling at it passionately. That gesture wakes him up as if from a dream of _years_. His fingers close tightly around her waist like an involuntary reaction and he opens his mouth, letting Daisy push her tongue inside. He lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her back, pulling at her top. He presses her body against the sink, hard, until she moans and he licks the moaning out of her. A first kiss turns into the next four as they get greedy, like they had been waiting years for this.

Maybe they have been waiting years for this.

Then things are _escalating_ quickly, to put it politely, and he grabs Daisy by the shoulders (he takes a moment to feel the curve of them fitting under his palms, to feel her body moving to fill his) and pushes her away a couple of inches.

“I think we should take this-” he starts.

“To the next level?” she offers, enthusiastically, moving her mouth against his jaw.

Coulson chuckles, barely believing it’s happening.

“To the bedroom,” he says. “If you rogue Inhumans do bedrooms.”

She throws her arms around his neck rather dramatically.

“Yeah, we do.”

 

+

 

Coulson stares at her naked back as she stretches over to the chair, opens her laptop and in a flash of expert typing she plays a YouTube mix of classic jazz. The choice is for his benefit, Coulson guesses. She comes back, wedging her body between his arms and resting her head on his chest, her hair tickling the sensitive skin around his scar. It was funny how he had kind of forgotten he had it, the scar, until Daisy pulled his undershirt over his head. He had been so disconnected with his own body for such a long time - since he lost his hand, he had shut everything down. And then this happens with Daisy and it’s like he’s remembering himself into his own skin again.

Daisy looks up at him, chin pressed under his collarbone.

“That was…” 

“Nice? I know you like that word,” Coulson finishes.

“I was going to say better than nice.”

Coulson is okay with nice. He knows it wasn’t spectacular. They were too nervous and too shy. But it was warm and it was tender and Coulson hadn’t felt like this - alive, normal, extraordinary, loved - in years. He moves his hand to stroke Daisy hair, pulling her up to kiss her cheek.

“Wait, wait,” she says, sitting up. Coulson feels a pang of despair when the warmth of her leaves his body. “There’s one more thing.”

She puts on a t-shirt and some underwear in a hurry and disappears out of the room before Coulson has time to ask what she’s doing.

He lies on his back while she’s gone, watching the ceiling. The room is as spare, as temporary, as the rest of the house - yet it gives him a thrill to be here, where Daisy lives, in the bed where Daisy has been sleeping in for two weeks. It excited him, just sharing space with her. Which is stupid because they have lived under the same room for three years. Coulson wonders what the hell this woman is turning him into. He doesn’t mind that much.

He hears the microwave working. It’s still really light outside, with the sun covering the ceiling completely, the color somewhere between the end of summer and this moment.

Daisy reappears a couple of minutes later, carrying the two mugs of coffee.

“We never got to have that coffee,” she says.

“Instant _and_ reheated,” Coulson comments, sitting against the headboard, looking at the mug warily. “You really know your way to a man’s heart.”

She gets into bed again, resting her legs over Coulson’s thighs. She gives him a judgemental look because he’s completely naked and she isn’t. Her feet are cold. No one but a seasoned agent would notice that her injured leg looks thinner but he does. He sighs a bit at that, glad there are no scars at least, and he runs one hand over her shin, caressing her knee distractedly.

“It’s peaceful here,” he says, looking at the room, the open window. “For New York, I mean.”

Daisy looks around. “Yeah,” she says. “An hour ago I couldn’t wait to get out of here, but it’s a nice place.”

“And now?”

He sees hesitation in her eyes.

“I still want to go back on the field as soon as possible,” she replies, taking a sip. “But I wouldn’t mind a couple of days more like this one.”

She studies Coulson’s face, expectant. This roundabout way of asking him to stay is very Daisy. He knows he probably _is_ needed somewhere else, but he trusts the team, and for once he does the selfish thing. Except it doesn’t feel that selfish if it’s for her.

“I can arrange that,” he tells her.

She beams, like she wasn’t expecting that answer at all. That is also very Daisy. He wonders if anyone has ever put her first in her whole life.

They finish the rest of their coffee (it’s not that bad, or maybe he’s benevolent because he drinks it while naked in the bed of the woman he loves) in silence, smiling stupidly at each other like teenagers after a first fuck. God, Coulson almost remembers doing exactly this with his first lover. Except for the part where he no longer has to worry about his mother coming home early and catching them.

When he finishes Daisy takes both mugs and settles them down on the bedside table.

“So I don’t want this to mess things up for you but I have a confession to make.”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she says, mimicking his tone of voice.

She laughs, putting a pillow over Coulson’s face to hide his annoyed expression.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Coulson protests, coming up for air.

Daisy grabs his wrists, pinning him down against the mattress, trapping him under her body and reminding him he has one.

“Never,” she says, kissing him.


End file.
